


Wavering Reflections (Working Title)

by Gaeliceyes



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Duskwight Elezen (Final Fantasy XIV), Existential Angst, Existential Crisis, Explicit for future chapters, F/M, Fluff and Angst, G'raha's just a friend - sorry not sorry, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Ishgard Sandwich, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal, Sexy Southern Mi'qote, identity crisis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:07:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27246247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaeliceyes/pseuds/Gaeliceyes
Summary: Spoilers for patch 5.3 post-Shadowbringers.Isoldahlia has not even begun to start dealing with the events on the First, but there is little doubt that she is not the same person who was torn away from the Source by desperate magicks. She must now struggle with both her identity and her purpose.This is my first foray into FFXIV fanfic. No idea where it's going. Could be a long story. Could be just a series of vignettes. What's written may not even be the first chapter in the future. Everything is fluid. I blameThe Rose Mistressfor inspiring me to writing again. I highly recommend her beautiful fic"Astral Fire, Umbral Heart"if you are a fan of the delectable Ishgard Sandwich, or even if you're not frankly.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Estinien Wyrmblood, Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light, Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light/Estinien Wyrmblood, G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, Warrior of Light/Estinien Wyrmblood
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	1. Table of Contents and Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for patch 5.3 post-Shadowbringers. 
> 
> Table of Contents for the mess that is coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Context Thoughts!**
> 
> :::HERE THERE BE SPOILERS!!!! DO NOT CONTINUE IF YOU HAVEN'T FINISHED ALL THE EXPANSIONS FOR FFXIV:::
> 
> Since this fic came about from my need to unpack my Warrior of Light's feelings and PTSD after coming back from the First, there is a lot of lead up information that must be provided as a given. Stuff that I may or may not get around to writing at a later date (probably not). So I dispense it to you here.
> 
> 1\. At the point she was cat-napped to the First she was already in a steady and loving polyamorous triad with Aymeric de Borel and Estinien Wyrmblood, and has been for some time. 
> 
> 2\. She travels with an adventuring companion, cat tank Zike Vhimri, and they are strictly friends. 
> 
> 3\. She may have absorbed a shard of her own sundered soul, but Ardbert was still very much a personality of that soul and probably didn't fully integrate with hers yet. There's some cognitive dissonance happening there. He is sometimes a voice in her head, but is it him or her own projection of him? Hrm....let's examine that I guess.
> 
> 4\. She has actively avoided going back to see her beloveds in the flesh, so to speak, since she absorbed that last Lightwarden. It's been weeks or months for her, but probably only days/weeks for them, cause time between the First and the Source is all kinds of screwy. Don't examine it too closely I guess? 
> 
> Table of Contents below for summaries on chapters, and if you're looking for, I mean _avoiding_ , NSFW.

**Chapter 1. Meet Zike** \- Hey, it's a tank cat! A short examination of the trickster that is Zike. - Also edited for present tense, since I decided after the fact to write the fic that way.

**Chapter 2. Awakening** \- Isoldahlia's friends are worried about her. Isoldahlia is worried about the extra soul she absorbed. And she's avoiding thinking about it I guess. Also, Leveilleur twins.

**Chapter 3. Unsettled \- **Isoldahlia travels to Ishgard, or tries to. 

  * CW for violence, blood, and PTSD/emotional trauma.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame the wholesome, debauched, and enabling friends in the [Book Club ](%E2%80%9C) for goading my brain into creating this. Check it out if you want more amazing FFXIV fanfic food.


	2. Meet Zike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for 5.3 Post-Shadowbringers
> 
> “Welcome home, old man. You took your time getting here.” Her voice was thick with some emotion, sorrow, laughter, weariness, or perhaps some combination. She took his hand in hers, squeezed (perhaps a bit too hard based on the squeak he emitted), pressed it against her forehead, and allowed a few silent tears of relief to leak out. He made another noise of dismay, but allowed her this moment, understanding as he did how heavy her burdens had been.
> 
> The former Crystal Exarch slipped swiftly back into a healing slumber. She practically passed out at his bedside, her tall frame hunched awkwardly, head on the sheets beside his waist, butt still in her chair. Krile did her best to arrange a blanket over her, but there was someone else better suited to settling her properly in bed, and she wasted no time using her linkpearl to contact him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter/blurb is just an exploration of the relationship between my WoL Isoldahlia and her friend and adventuring companion the WoL Zike (who made it crystal clear that there should be NO shipping of him with Isoldahlia. Giraffes are not his type, apparently. Finicky feline.) It occurs in the time between the last two cutscenes of the post-shadowbringers patch main quest line (I think. I'm not certain exactly. I get these patches confused).

She runs to the tower, breathing harsh. All her friends are returned, all but one. Tears burn her eyes, but she beats them back, brutally denying any hint of doubt. Instead she runs, until her lungs burn and her calves ache. And she prays to every power she knows of that this will work. 

She carries him out of the tower herself, cradled in her arms like a child, to the tender ministrations of Krile. She sits beside the bed where G’raha Tia wrestles with his twining souls, praying her own new old friend will survive the joining, memories intact. 

She smiles in grateful exhaustion when his Allagan red eyes slit open and behold her. “My dear friend. Did it work?” The soft, measured cadence of his voice, the warmth of his regard, all tell her that it had. He was himself, full of all the memories that led him to himself as he was on the First. Except for those last days, after his kidnapping. After his sacrifice. But he will not remember those hours of duress. Maybe one day she will tell him. 

“Welcome home, old man. You took your time getting here.” Her voice is thick with some emotion; sorrow, laughter, weariness, or perhaps some combination. She takes his hand in hers, squeezes (perhaps a bit too hard based on the squeak he emits), presses it against her forehead, and allows a few silent tears of relief to leak out. He makes another noise of dismay, but concedes to her this moment, understanding as he does how heavy her burdens have been.

The former Crystal Exarch slips swiftly back into a healing slumber. She practically passes out at his bedside, her tall frame hunched awkwardly, head on the sheets beside his waist, butt still in her chair. Krile does her best to arrange a blanket over her, but there is someone else better suited to settling her properly in bed, and she wastes no time using her linkpearl to contact him. 

“What!?” A familiar purring drawl responds with tired irritation.

“I need your help,” Krile says impishly, “My patient needs rest and I can’t move this dead weight on my own.”

“Well, why’re you calling me?” grouses the voice. “It’s not my job to take care of her. She’s a grown adult person. Plus she’s got actual people to take care of her. Let them do it.”

“You,” she states primly, “are closer. And I have no way to contact the others easily. The stubborn one has stopped responding to my calls entirely.”

A long suffering sigh over the connection. “Fine! Fine. Always needing my help. And will I get any thanks? Of course not. I need rest, too, you know!” He hangs up abruptly, but Krile smiles at his cheekiness.

Less than ten minutes later the handsome red Mi’qote saunters into the sickroom. He takes in the sight of every damn one of the Scions passed out in their beds, and one exhausted warrior of light half falling from her chair beside G’raha Tia’s bedside. The odd angle of her neck where her head rests on the mattress edge cannot be comfortable. He eyes her leaden limbs, sprawled akimbo, and tries to determine the best way to move the much larger elezen. Finally, with a careless shrug, he simply shoves one shoulder into her gut and hauls her over it like a sack of potatoes. She barely stirs, except for a small mew of protest. Damn, she really did need rest, he thought.

“What are you doing!?” Tataru yelps as he strides out of the infirmary with his cargo. 

“Krile asked me to get her, I’m getting her,” he snaps. He sounds irritated, but the delighted flicks of his ears betray his amusement. He is going to laugh so hard when he tells her about this later.

“I’m sure she didn’t mean…” the tiny woman starts briskly. Zike stops and makes as if to unburden himself.

“Maybe you think you can do it better?” he smirks. “I can leave her here…” 

“No! No, no. No, you’re doing a fine job,” Tataru rushes, putting on a placating smile. She is pretty sure he was joking. Pretty sure. Best not to test him though.

“Well all right then,” he drawls. “If anyone asks after her, she’ll be upstairs.” Two fingers touch his brim politely and he strides toward the door, only staggering once when Isoldahlia shifts unexpectedly. “You’re gonna owe me,” he mutters in one deaf ear as he shoves through the door. 

It is a simple matter to drop her onto the bed in the room he’s already rented...for himself, dammit. He’ll just have to get a second room, he guesses. Sighing, he takes off his hat and runs one hand through his salt and ginger hair, then settles it back on his head. A knock sounds at the door, revealing a porter with her rucksack in his hand. “Mistress Tataru thought you might need this?” The lad suggests swiftly beneath his steely glower. 

“What I NEED is another room, since this bed is now occupied,” Zike grumbles, snatching the pack. 

The lad bobs a quick bow. “I’ll see to it immediately!” he squeaks before practically running down the steps. Zike looks down at the sack, then over at the woman snoring on the bed. His eyes narrow and a grin tugs at his lips. Ha! He knew it had been her he’d heard all those nights traveling together. She always vehemently denied it, too...even tried passing it off as Alphinaud. 

She has turned sideways and one arm drapes down the side of the bed, fingers brushing the floor. He sighs. There is no getting the quilt out from under her without dumping her bodily onto the hardwood. Closing the door firmly, he instead opens her pack and starts rifling through it until his hand closes onto her well-worn travel blanket, crumpled messily near the bottom. So, of course, half the contents of the sack come tumbling after when he tugs it out. Throwing the woolen cloth over her (now drooling) form, he even goes so far as to pull off her shoes. He isn’t a monster. No one should have to sleep with their boots on. 

Then he turns back to the mess on the floor, tempted to leave it, except, no, he can’t stand it. None too carefully he starts shoving wrinkled clothes and other detritus back inside the pack. Then he pauses, head tilted consideringly at the heavy woven stationery that lies invitingly unfolded on the carpet. He doesn’t INTEND to read her private correspondence, but it is impossible to miss some of it as he tries to chivy the sheets back into some neater order. One line in particular catches his eye, undoubtedly because part of it is underlined for emphasis...three times.

“....insist you come home soon, even if only briefly, or I shall have to resort to drastic measures and send our dragon to fetch you.” Zike’s ears perk and his tail twitches several times as a sly grin blooms on his face.

“Payback might be quicker than I thought….” he chortles softly as he gently replaces the sheaf of papers back in her pack. He grabs his own effects and bounds out the door in search of that timid bellhop. He has a message to send before settling down for his own well-deserved rest.


	3. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for patch 5.3 post-Shadowbringers.  
> *****
> 
> “I see she still didn’t let you just walk off,” Zike observes, nodding at the wheeled chairs they both sit in. Alisaie rolls her eyes in exasperation.
> 
> “Believe me, we protested,” she complains, going to fill her own plate, but stopping with a flummoxed look when she realizes she can’t reach anything without getting up. Zike holds out one hand expectantly and can’t help his amusement at her pout when she passes it to him. 
> 
> “Not very strongly.” Alphinaud demures. “Thancred apparently tried to slip out last night on his own and received a concussion for his trouble. We both,” brother looks significantly at sister, “decided discretion was the better part of valor and accepted her conditions of freedom.” Alisaie grumbles, but tilts her head in acknowledgement. “Additionally, once she learned it was to partake in a hearty meal from Zike, she was almost eager to push us out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast of Champions a la Zike, and some Scion family dynamics. Zike likes taking care of people, despite his grousing. Isoldahlia has some self-awareness issues.

Isoldahlia begins to drift back from exhausted torpor when a single shaft of piercingly bright morning light stabs through her eyelids like hot needles, followed closely by a gnashing cramp from her belly. Doubtless protesting her failure to eat, well, much of anything in the past several days. Or has it been a week? _More like a century,_ the amused thought drifts past. Damn, she is losing track of time now. She might have ignored her body’s complaints if not for a heavy, wall-rattling pounding, from the door. 

“Rise ‘n shine, lazybones!” A familiar voice calls from the hallway. A pause and then more thunderous knocking. “C’mon now!”

She groans and covers her face with one arm. Her mouth tastes like dry death, and she can feel the imprint of the quilt on her cheek. “Go away,” she shouts back, wincing at the volume. She rolls over and pulls the blanket over her head. Blessed darkness, she muses. 

Next thing she knows there is the scrape of a key in a lock, and the door crashes open. She startles, knocking her head on the headboard, and is clutching at it woefully when Zike ambles in. “Honey! I’m home!” Zike lilts as he kicks the door closed behind him. 

“Twelve bless, Zike. What are you doing?” She rasps. “How did you get in here?” She pauses a beat, taking in the room with bleary eyes. “How did I get here?” He saunters over to a chair and sprawls into it, stretching his boots out in front of him, ankles crossed. His hand jingles, revealing an iron key. 

“My room,” he grins, “I have the key.”

“You are a foul, uncaring feline, Zike Vimhri,” she snarls. Two weary hands scrub at her face, rubbing crust from her eyes.

“Well, now, how do you like that? I am a pro-phet!” One hand spreads over his chest, ears laid back, and his eyes go wide and wounded. “I helped you to bed out of the goodness of my heart even knowing this is the thanks I would get.” She glares at him until his lips twitch, betraying his attempt at injury.

“Why are you here, Zike?” She stares balefully at his overtly perky face. He chuckles and shrugs. 

“Krile thought I should check on you. You’ve been out of it for most of a day. She was asking how you were feeling and wasn’t pleased I couldn’t tell her.” He folds his arms behind his head a sighs in relaxation. 

“Fine,” she mutters, “Thank you. Tell her I’m back with the living. Happy now?” She pushes herself to her feet, wincing, one hand rising to touch tender ribs. She can’t quite recall how that bruise happened. She stretches, easing the stiffness from limbs too long immobile, and realizes there is a more pressing demand from her body. Her guest is forgotten in her race for the washroom.

Some minutes later she returns, looking much improved after her morning ablutions, and her forehead creases. “Still here?” she hints. Zike lifts his hat off his eyes and raises his head, ears perked. 

“To answer your previous question,” he grins, “ I will be, once you take yourself downstairs for some of my trademark pancakes and Eggs a la Ishgard. I think I finally perfected the Hollandaise.” His voice rises coaxingly and his brows waggle.

She tries to fight back a smile and fails. “With birch syrup?” she asks hopefully. 

“Yeees,” he rolls his eyes, “heathen.”

“In that case, how can I say no?” With casual disregard she starts releasing the ties at the back of her dress. Zike’ s eyes go wide and he jumps up like he’s been burned as the fabric starts to sag, shoving his hat on hastily. 

“Dammit, woman. Warn a person before you start disrobing,” he yelps as he practically trips out the door. “Oh my eyes!” He wails plaintively as she slams the door behind him. She giggles at his antics, then stares at the door thoughtfully.

“Huh, what do you know. That worked,” she muses, eyes crinkling. _Told ya,_ the newest voice in her head laughs back merrily.

————————————————

Zike is relieved when Isoldahlia appears in the Rising Stones common room less than ten minutes later. He is less pleased at the large stack of letters and flyers in her hand, but doesn’t comment, just smirks when she stops suddenly at the sight of the overladen table, and additional occupants. A smile blooms on her face.

“Alisaie! Alphinaud! I didn’t expect to see you,” her eyes shine with pleasure as she hurries over to give them both gentle hugs. Neither youth gets up, but Alphinaud blushes to the tips of his ears, while Alisaie feigns a casual manner, yet tightens her arms briefly when the older elezen tries to pull away. 

“Krile realized she was like to have mutiny on her hands if she kept us from leaving for one more day,” Alphinaud confides, as Isoldahlia finds a seat and eyes the feast laid out before them. A bowl of fruit, including her favorite, pomegranates, is flanked by two cloche covered platters. Zike whips them away to reveal the promised pancakes on one and small open faced muffins topped with poached egg and spinach on the other. A stack of toast and thick ham slices, a jar of rollanberry compote, fluffy whipped cream, and savory golden Hollandaise in a gravy boat. There is even a small pitcher of birch syrup, as promised. 

Isoldahlia starts with one tiny tower of the Eggs Ishgard, then stabs a couple of pancakes with her fork. Zike, meanwhile, fills mugs for all, coffee for himself and Alisaie, tea for Alphinaud and Isoldahlia, and distributes them. He pulls up a chair with a satisfied sigh. 

“I see she still didn’t let you just walk off,” Zike observes, nodding at the wheeled chairs they both sit in. Alisaie rolls her eyes in exasperation. 

“Believe me, we protested,” she complains, going to fill her own plate, but stopping with a flummoxed look when she realizes she can’t reach anything without getting up. Zike holds out one hand expectantly and can’t help his amusement at her pout when she passes it to him. 

“Not very strongly.” Alphinaud demures. “Thancred apparently tried to slip out last night on his own and received a concussion for his trouble. We both,” brother looks significantly at sister, “decided discretion was the better part of valor and accepted her conditions of freedom.” Alisaie grumbles, but tilts her head in acknowledgement. “Additionally, once she learned it was to partake in a hearty meal from Zike, she was almost eager to push us out.”

“That’s cause she knows a good meal with good company does a body good,” Zike goes about serving both Scions. He gives them a small sample of everything, except that tooth-rotting birch syrup. Instead the pancakes get a spread of compote and a healthy dollop of the cream. He sets one hand on Alisaie’s shoulder briefly when he hands her her plate. “Ain’t no shame in needing help from time to time.”

She grimaces, but nods. “I know you’re right,” she sighs. “Thank you.” Zike slides a glance at Isoldahlia to see if she’s taken notice of his dispensed wisdom and just stares instead. Her plate has food crammed into every inch and she is eating with gusto, practically shovelling bites into her mouth. His own attention is soon joined by the twins, who fall silent to watch as well. 

Isoldahlia finally seems to note the sudden silence and looks up at them. “Hmm?” she mumbles, swallowing. A sudden belch emerges and she covers her mouth with one hand, a faint purple blush washing up her dusk grey cheeks. “Delicious Zike,” she says, “even better than usual. Definitely honed your skills.” She takes another bite of, he observes, dumbfounded, pancake with jam. 

“Are...that is….are you feeling quite well, Isoldahlia?” Alphinaud asks with beetled brow. 

“Of course, why? I just needed some rest.” She slices off a large chunk of ham and consumes it with gusto. “I think you’re just worrying again Alphinaud,” she mumbles around her chews.

“I’m flattered you like it,” Zike nods at her overburdened plate. “Never seen you appreciate my work quite so heartily” His voice is mild, trying to keep his concern off his face.

“I was hungry,” she shrugs, “It seems ages since I’ve had a good meal. So...I guess you were right? I thought you’d be pleased!” She picks up a mug and takes a deep draught, making a small hum of pleasure. Zike’s brows rise. She picks her fork up again.

Zike clears his throat. “I would be, ‘cept you just drank my coffee,” he drawls. She freezes and blinks, looking down at the mug she just used, and the dark bitter contents. Her eyes slide to the untouched mug of tea, heavily sweetened with birch syrup and a dash of milk, just as she likes it.

“You don’t seem quite yourself, is all,” Alphinaud ventures after a short silence.

Zike watches her cheeks drain to near Ishgardian paleness. She smiles, although her eyes are tight, and sets the utensil down. “You know, I think I might be full. My eyes must have been larger than my stomach.” Her laugh sounds hollow. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some letters to review.” She stands up carefully, nodding to the two youths. “It’s so good to see you up and about.” Zike has never seen anyone flee quite so politely. She leaves behind a worried silence, and the stack of letters.

“What in the world was that about?” Alphinaud asks, bewildered.

Alisaie sighs and picks up her fork. “For a smart guy, you can be a real idiot, Alphie,” she says, digging into her food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For context, because I'm not sure where or when I might get this idea out otherwise, what changes might happen when one absorbs a shard of one's own sundered soul, still a memory of the person they were, that's been floating around alone for a century?


	4. Unsettled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She knows she must make the trip to Ishgard, but some malms before the Steps of Faith even come into view she can go no further. She can’t even blame the weather this time. It is as beautiful a day as can be had in Coerthas, bracing, refreshing cold, achingly blue skies, the exact color of Aymeric’s eyes in fact. But she finds her mount slowing, then stopping, and she dismounts as she stares at the bright icy road ahead. She starts walking, and the chocobo keeps pace equably behind her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for 5.0 Shadowbringers and later expansions. It took me longer than I'd like to get this chapter done, just as it is taking me longer to find Isoldahlia's voice than I thought it would. However, hopefully Zike and others are entertainment enough while she gets fleshed out. Please enjoy my humble offering.
> 
> CW for violence, blood mention, and references to PTSD and emotional trauma.

After breakfast Zike wanders out to the crenellated wall of Revenant’s Toll. He leans two elbows on the aether drenched stones and stares out toward the gleaming spire of the Crystal Tower. Beside him Isoldahlia pretends he isn’t there and they share the silence for a time. He ponders what to say, or if he should even speak. The Twelve know they don’t have that kind of friendship, pouring out their feelings to each other like a pair of broken spigots full of mush. More like barely acknowledging them, really. But he can see she’s struggling. He can’t imagine how she’s dealt with it all up to now, and he’s not sure about everything that might be on her mind, although he has some suspicions. What he does know is he never saw her happier than right before they left for the first. And he has never seen her more miserable and unsure of herself than since their return. Finally he clears his throat. 

“So, you like coffee now?” he muses idly. 

“Shut up, Zike,” a bitter mutter. 

“I mean, it is the nectar of the gods.” A smirk. “I just never thought I’d live to see the day when you admitted that.”

“I don’t wish to talk about it,” she says firmly. 

“Sure. Ok.” He let the silence sit for a time. “You all right, then?” 

“Fine,” she says, her voice clipped. His ears flick back and up again, his tail swishes.

“Right. Good talk,” he mutters, eyeing her sideways. She snorts. He turns around, leaning back against the wall and looks at her, head cocked. “Not really my place to judge, but why are you here?”

“I just wanted some fresh air Zike, for Fury’s sake,” she turns to glower at him. “I’m not going to throw myself off the parapet or something.”

“Well, now, that thought hadn’t even crossed my mind, but now I’m wondering if it should have,” he says mildly. He can feel his brows crawling into his hairline. “No, I meant why are you  _ still  _ here, at the Rising Stones?”

“I don’t..”

He holds up a hand, flicks his ears, and she snaps her mouth shut with a sigh. 

“Alright, I mean, don’t tell me. I’m only your friend and traveling companion. Only fought beside you in  _ countless  _ battles, shielded you with my very body,” He is getting into it now, his voice dripping drama with every syllable he utters. He stares up at the heavens, hand to his heart, then glances sideways at her and is rewarded with a good-natured eyeroll. “Fed you…”

“Oh, leave off,” she finally chuckles weakly. He makes a wounded sound. “I suppose you think I should be in Ishgard.”

“Did I say that? I don’t  _ recall  _ saying that. Why would I say such a thing? None of my business what you do with your time. I’d never presume…”

“Oh yes you would,” she interrupts, and he snorts. 

“Well, if that’s all you have to say,” he shrugs, feigning indifference and she sighs. 

“I’m not sure I can give you a good explanation,” she says, finally looking at him. He crosses his arms and his face settles into more serious lines. 

“Well now, I reckon I ain’t the one that needs it.” His tone is gentle, but her face looks stricken nonetheless. “I’ll just say,” his hand holds up, “seems there’s not much demanding our attention here right now. And what there is here’ll keep. We could all use a rest, so I’m of a mind to visit some lovely lady friends in Gridania.” He pushes himself up and grins at her, “just so you know, if you need to get ahold of me.” 

Isoldahlia looks back toward the tower, breathing in deep and slow, then releasing it even slower. “Thanks for letting me know, Zike. You’re a good friend.”

“I am the  _ best _ friend,” he states, waggling his brows “I’ll see you in a week or so.”

“Good Luck with your ladies,” her eyes twinkle, a hint of her former cheer. 

“Luck’s got nothin’ to do with it.” With a wink over his shoulder, he saunters away, red tail flicking saucily. He grins as he listens to her laugh behind him.

-—-—-—-—-—-—-

She knows she must make the trip to Ishgard, but some malms before the Steps of Faith even come into view she can go no further. She can’t even blame the weather this time. It is as beautiful a day as can be had in Coerthas, bracing, refreshing cold, achingly blue skies, the exact color of Aymeric’s eyes in fact. But she finds her mount slowing, then stopping, and she dismounts as she stares at the bright icy road ahead. She starts walking, and the chocobo keeps pace equably behind her. 

Why is this so hard? Hasn’t she yearned to see them both again, to hear their voices, feel their hands, look into their eyes and feel loved?  _ It sounds like heaven _ , the thought is one of longing and profound loneliness,  _ How blessed you are to have found such a thing _ . 

Isoldahlia gasps and fists one hand into her stomach, trying to contain the bloom of pain. “I don’t need you to tell me that,” she grits out.

An equally true pain washes through, hers and yet not.  _ Are you sure? You seem not to appreciate your good fortune.  _ The hint of bitterness and envy she feels is piercing.

“Go. Away,” she can feel her hands cramping from clenching them so hard. 

_ That’s not really an option any longer,  _ gentle amusement, soothing her pique. She closes her eyes and forces her hands to relax. Shakes her head, touching one temple. 

“Yes, I...I know. Just...you don’t understand,” she whispers into the wind.

_ I could if you’d let me, _ almost petulant now, but the sense of him is fading back into her mind again. She takes several deep breaths. It had seemed like fate at the time, joining her soul to Ardbert’s, two pieces of a sundered whole meant to be together. Meant to be, beyond just the need for greater strength to defeat Elidibus. She isn’t sure what she had expected, but it hadn’t been this, feeling like herself and not like herself. Someone else’s memories drifting through her dreams, someone else’s desires subtly altering her own. It is as if he is still a ghost, only now he inhabits her body and influences her thoughts. Coffee was one thing, but what if….what if she looks into the eyes of a loved one and it is suddenly wrong? What if...there is nothing there, or worse, if the new piece of her soul doesn’t harmonize with them the way the original had? What if she is just being a coward, making up excuses because she knows she needs to tell them about her little secret in the Shroud?

It is more a sense than anything else that alerts her. Her hindbrain taking note of some small change in the atmosphere around her, a prickle in the nape of her neck.  _ Ware! _ , her second soul erupts suddenly to the forefront of her thoughts. Her ears hear a distinctive sound, simultaneously wet and crunchy.  _ Sineater! To arms, friend! _

_ NO! It can’t be...not here,  _ but the adrenaline is already flooding her system, senses sharpening, muscles coiling tense to strike. It is faint, barely audible, a scrape of grit against stone, but it is enough.

_ There,  _ he hisses, corroborating. Her body, primed by months of constant vigilance, honed by the need to be faster, stronger, deadlier, explodes into action. She pushes herself into an arcing leap, while simultaneously drawing a throwing knife from her belt. She sends it flying at apogee with instinct more than aim, but thrills to the sound of a hiss as the steel finds its mark. Then following the twist of her body, she tucks and rolls up into a crouch, spins on her attacker and launches in the same breath, daggers drawn.    
  
She doesn’t see much in that first pass, just light flashing off white. The figure is slouched and ready for her charge now though, limbs spread, spear shining in the glow of the setting sun behind it. She screams, part rage, part fear as she stabs at it. How easy it is to fall back into that place of purity, nothing but the weapon in her hand and the swift, silent calculations of the enemy’s every twitch and breath. She can feel her heart racing, pushing her reactions higher, faster. She anticipates the satisfying slide of blade into sinew, but the enemy twists, slides sideways, deftly avoiding. She sails past, catching her momentum with her feet and one dagger dragging through the icy top layer of snow. The scrape of the blade traveling through tickles something at the back of her head. 

She snarls and whips around, ready for another charge, even as other noises start intruding on her narrowed focus. The harsh breathing of her opponent, the sing of metal through the air, the crackle of her own feet in the frozen crust. Much like that she had heard moments before the fight broke out. Her head is buzzing, and she blinks, trying to clear the fog. There is a voice, muffled and indistinct. She shakes her head, trying to understand how a sineater might have gotten to the Source. The fuzzy tones again, louder this time, but not quite distinct. Her eyes flick toward the enemy, only they are a hunched shadow, light gleaming off silver-white hair. Once more she blinks, tightens her fingers around hilts until her joints ache. The figure finally resolves itself along with the voice. “….not your enemy. Isoldahlia! Cease!”

Estinien watches her warily, this injured predator crouched among the crags of Coerthas. Eyes wild and filled with the lust of battle are slowly being clouded by confusion, and dare he hope, clarity. He allows himself to release the breath he didn’t even know he had been holding, and stifles a wince at the throb of pain in his side where her aim had found its mark. He has seen such wounded souls before, far more than he would like after a life of endless war. To think the dauntless woman he knew mere months before might have taken such a blow fills him with equal measures of rage and despair. He has extensive practice being stoic, near to the point of mockery, so only calm is on his face, even as his heart snarls. The taint of Nidhogg, still tangled within him, sings songs charging him to protect what is his, revenge himself on those that would harm her.  _ Mine, mine to me. Tell me who I must kill and it shall be done.  _

Ah, but he has learned his lesson on vengeance, shaking his head and pushing away the Dragon’s slavering demands. She is staring at him in disbelief, and her lips shape his name in silence. After all she had endured up to her kidnapping, what horrors must she have seen on the First to cut her so deep? He knew nothing, his efforts thus far only securing him assurances from Tataru and Krile that she was alive and would be home soon. Damn the Scions and their operational security. Even Aymeric, head of state that he was, could get little more than official reports of a near calamity and a world in peril that, of course, only the vaunted Warrior of Light could save. He shoves the thoughts away before he works himself up again.

He voices none of this, merely meets her eyes steadily, undemanding. Isoldahlia sucks in a breath and stares back at him with haunted eyes. Deadly sharp knives fall from suddenly boneless fingers, sending puffs of snow into the air. Her hands fly to her mouth to stifle the sob trying to escape. “I...I didn’t….” She leaps up and turns to run, but Estinien is faster. One leap and he intercepts her. Arms like steel wrap tight around her, one hand cupped securely around the back of her head, to bury her face into his shoulder. She struggles for a few futile moments before the dam breaches and she is sobbing uncontrollably, fingers clutching at his coat. There is nothing he can do to staunch this bleeding, an emotional unburdening that has no doubt been withheld for far to long. Estinien says nothing. Merely clasps her tighter and lets the sorrow run its course. Better here in his arms than alone among the bleak windswept tors of Dravania, as he had done. When the storm has passed he keeps his silence, hoping to convey his acceptance in the strength of his embrace, until her body eases and the only sound is their shared breaths. 

“Come on, then,” gruff but gentle. His chin is pressed hard into the top of her head, and he is finding it difficult to let her go. “We must find shelter for the night.” She opens her mouth to protest, but a glance up proves the deepening dusk and rising winds bear ill tidings for any lengthy travel, so she simply nods. 

He forces himself to amble toward his Chocobo, who shifts nervously on taloned feet when she smells the blood on him. He watches her approach her own bird, voice soothing but rough from crying, and waits for her to turn her back. While she is occupied he quickly pulls a spare bit of clothing from his saddlebag and rips a strip off, stuffing it up under his shirt and tucking all back into his belt, a makeshift bandage. He is impressed at how quickly she had blooded him with that first attack, but there is no sense in telling her about it until they are at least settled for the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame the wholesome, debauched, and enabling friends in the [Book Club ](%E2%80%9C) for goading my brain into creating this. Check it out if you want more amazing FFXIV fanfic food supplied by the most talented people I know, and the most supportive and welcoming.


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